Bad Days
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot. Sherlock and Molly realise bad days are to be spent with each other. They are all they have.


_**A/N:** Why did I write this? I wrote this because Sherlolly. And because I just crave little intimate Sherlolly moments like these, where they are so clearly intertwined and comfortable with each other that like love fools, they don't even realise it..._

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**Bad Days**

Molly wanted nothing more than a hot bath after a rather harrowing day at the hospital.

She was shocked to find her bathroom door closed. From beneath door, she could feel the warmth from steam escape.

Following someone's rather infamous footsteps, Molly removed a bobby pin from her hair and successfully unpicked the lock. When the door swung open, she found Sherlock Holmes with his head tilted back, relaxing in her bathtub.

"You learn fast. I taught you that only once," he said, genuine admiration in his voice.

Molly ignored him, slowly undressing, determined to get the hot bath she deserved. Being naked around Sherlock was no longer an issue. She herself had seen him naked many times from having to dress his wounds every time he returned from all his post-fall espionage. Her nakedness, on the other hand, had nothing to do with wounds. Rather, it had to do with his general rudeness and being impatient when he needed something from her.

She made the decision, therefore, to treat him as part of the furniture. If it was okay to disrobe in front of a wardrobe or a sofa, it was okay to disrobe around Sherlock Holmes.

"Move." she said, using her foot to nudge his legs. He obliged, retracting his outstretched legs and hugged his knees.

"So, bad day, was it?" he asked her.  
"Quiet, Sherlock…" she said. It was Molly's turn to tilt her head, shutting her eyes as she relaxed at her end of the bath.  
"You could at least thank me for running the hot bath for you…"  
"Thank you, Sherlock," Molly muttered blankly.

He frowned at her nonchalance but she did not see. She was enjoying the loosening of the knots in her neck as the hot water worked its magic.

"Lavender or the peaches and cream?" he asked, suddenly.

Without looking up, Molly hummed as she thought about his question.

"Peaches and cream, please" she said, stretching her hand to him while her eyes stayed shut.

When her hand remained outstretched and empty, Molly opened her eyes and sat up, only to see Sherlock holding the bottle of shampoo in his hands.

"Did you want to borrow my shampoo?" Molly asked, raising an eyebrow at him.  
"No…"  
"Then give it. Please." she said, nodding towards her outstretched hand.  
"I'd like to borrow you," he said.  
"What?" she exclaimed, almost hitting the water in exasperation, "Sherlock, I'm tired and I want to wash my hair and you're just completely—…"

Sighing, he grabbed her outstretched hand that was now gesticulating in frustration at him, stopping her tirade. He yanked at her arm, indicating he wanted her to come towards him.

Molly was too irritated to fight and allowed him to manoeuvre her however he wanted. Eventually, she found herself turned around, her back to him.

"Lean against my knees," he said quietly.

Molly propped her feet against the end of the bathtub and aligned her tired back against his propped-up legs.

"Shut your eyes and just relax."

Moments later, the delightful scent of peaches and cream filled the room as Sherlock slowly massaged the shampoo into Molly's tired scalp. His hands expertly rubbed against her temples, running his hand down the back of her neck too. When he was done, he gently rinsed her hair for her, grabbing the shower head and running the warm jets of water through her dark brown locks.

It had been a wonderful bath and it was all thanks to Sherlock. Molly felt properly refreshed and was ready to just sink into bed and laze around with a book. As she dried her hair, she found Sherlock lying on her sofa outside, thinking.

Smiling to herself, she returned to her room and took two small items from her dresser and put them in her robe pocket. She went to Sherlock and crouched beside the sofa.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him softly.  
"Cases…" he mumbled, "Or lack thereof."  
"Bad day, was it?" she asked softly, reaching to touch the side of his face.  
"Mmm." he replied, shutting his eyes at her touch.

Molly's fingers twirled with his dark wisps that fell down the side of his face. He never minded when she did that.

"Sherlock?" she said.  
"Hmm?"  
"Cherry or grapefruit?"

His eyes opened and turned his head slowly to look at her. A small smile played on his lips before he answered her.

"Neither." he said, before lunging forward to kiss her.

Molly ended up sleeping on the sofa that night. With her head resting on Sherlock's chest, her robe in disarray, and on the floor, the two fruit-flavoured lip balms that had rolled out of her robe pocket.

**END**


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